Falling by the Wayside
by Penelope Paige
Summary: It's Troy and Gabriella's Senior year of high school, but just when things start making sense everything unravels. Aided by the arrival of a new student, as well as a brand new musical, East High is about to get more complicated. [T.G, T.OC]
1. The Beginning

_A/N: Well, so here it starts! I was going to wait longer to start posting-- but I couldn't help myself xD. I actually have a lot of things planned for this fic-- I guess this is just a simple start to get everyone slowly acclimated (more of that still to come I guess :P). I'd love some feedback!_

_Disclaimer: I disclaim. Totally. Nilch, nada, NOTHING is mine. Except for the plot and a couple extra characters. :)_

* * *

**Chapter One: The Beginning**

Today was his first day of Senior year.

He _still _had to get used to saying that. A year ago he wouldn't have expected things to turn out as they had right now-- but all it took was a musical and some carefully crafted plans (as well as a triple win) to turn everything straight on its side. A little left of center, if you will. When Gabriella Montez walked into his life-- that was it. It was like the world decided one day that it was going to make a hell of a storm of his life, and in the end he'd end up with nothing but his bare bones. Himself, in other words. He liked to sing, he loved to sing, singing was _him_. And Gabriella had been there to share it with him. Later this year, they'd be celebrating their six month anniversary as a couple and you know what? He really couldn't imagine anything more perfect. To boot, he was still captain of the basketball team and ever since their win at the championship they seemed to be riding on a streak of good luck-- undefeated, _still_.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there was a sure rainbow of luck riding neatly over East High School.

So when he stepped out of his car (his parents had finally caved into letting him buy the truck he'd always wanted), with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a satisfied smile on his face... he was pretty sure that this year was going to be incredible.

"Troy! Hey! MAN!" he heard a familiar voice, its owner confirmed as soon as he saw the mop of hair that so indescribably came connected to one Chad Danforth. He smirked as Chad walked over, looking especially happy (and the entire thing was a little shocking, he mused, as Chad happy and first days of school had never really gone hand in hand). They clasped hands, gave each other the usual manly welcome and started to walk off towards the large building that had housed their academic lives for the past four years.

Chad nodded towards his truck as they walked off. "Nice, Mom finally agreed to the 'big-hunk-of-deadly-metal'-- if I remember, that's what she called it last, right?"

"Yeah, but only after a couple months of 'serious consideration'-- whatever that means."

They walked into the hall, rows of lockers on either side of them. The notice board already looked full of club announcements, and he could've sworn that the Chess club seemed especially keen on attracting members-- boasting the largest advertisement on the pin-board. Shaking his head he couldn't help but smirk, knowing full well that even the largest advertisement wouldn't get anyone near the club. With Larry Knight at the head of it (and taking into account the irony of his last name, as well as the odd smell he gave off whenever you were within a five foot radius of him)-- no one would give the thing a second glance.

"So where were you assigned?" Chad asked, referring to his locker. After some intense digging around, Troy pulled out his schedule-- not having given it a look over before now.

His eyes scanned the paper. "Er... oh! Here it is," he paused, his face falling as it turned a couple shades paler.

Chad furrowed his eyebrows in concern. "Dude, what's wrong? You looked like you just swallowed a dirty sock?"

Wordlessly, he held out the paper for Chad-- and his friend took it, though warily, before giving it a thorough read over. He burst out laughing, before catching the look in Bolton's eyes and quickly shutting up. "Er-- it'll be all right. Uh... during the summer, the lower level is always the coolest?"

He snatched the slip back, shoving it into his pocket. "I can't believe it. I'll see you around, I have to get my books in before homeroom and now that my locker is officially the farthest away from everyone on the planet-- I'll need the extra time." Grumbling, he walked off, bidding his goodbye and catch-you-laters before continuing his trek downwards.

Z-42.

Locker. From. Hell. The Z section was infamous-- most people didn't even think it existed. Most people would _still _be thinking that if it wasn't for the stories. You know, of kids coming in continually late to class because their locker was located about two floors below civilization. He groaned aloud, putting his hands over his face sure that if he just kept it cool long enough something would fall out of the sky and solve all of his problems.

"Troy? You all right?" A soft, girlish voice asked from in front of him. He stopped in place, peeking out through behind his fingers before letting a smile slip onto his face. Immediately he reached out and grabbed the figure into a big hug, giving her a little twirl before setting her back down again (no closer to letting her go, however).

"TROY!" she squeaked, breaking out into a fit of giggles as she was twirled around. "Stop that! People-- they're er, starting to look at us like we're crazy."

He grinned and merely answered by running his fingers lightly down the side of her face-- affectionate, as usual. "Gabriella Montez, you astound me. I thought you had gotten over this people-looking-at-you thing," he teased her. She'd been gone on a trip to California to visit relatives all summer, and _this _was the first time he'd seen her. You can't blame a guy for being a _little _excited.

She merely grinned, and playfully stuck her tongue out at him. Sighing softly, she wrapped her arms around him and settled onto his shoulder. "I missed you," she breathed softly, feeling content as any in the arms of the boy she most cared for. Loved, even-- not that she'd worked up the nerve to tell him that yet. Sure, easier said than done for a girl that used to be terrified to have so much as more than two people stare at her at a time.

"I missed you too," he replied softly. Although he could have stayed in the position for much longer, the bell rang-- sounding the beginning of the term and immediately-- he remembered:

Z-42.

"SHOOT!" he suddenly cried, pulling away from Gabriella as students milled about them. "I've got to go! My locker-- away-- late-- class!" A quick peck on her cheek later and he went off running in the opposite direction. Gabriella gave a short laugh and shook her head, despite everything-- sometimes she _still _didn't understand Troy Bolton.


	2. Sneakers of Black

_A/N: Thanks so much for the great reviews so far everyone! I'm glad you liked it so far :). NOW FOR THE NEW!_

_Disclaimer: La la la la la... not mine. :( Except for Miss. Bryant-- and Larry, unfortunately._

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**Chapter Two: Sneakers of Black**

Well, this was pretty much ridiculous. Here she was, staring down at her feet-- one blue sock, one purple sock, and she knew full well that they didn't match. The laundry hadn't been done, in other words. She _also _knew that she had about five seconds to get downstairs before her parents started yelling at her. It didn't matter about the socks though, she supposed, as her jeans fell over her shoes, and her shoes-- if anything-- were the main attraction anyways. You see, for as long as she could remember she'd always had a pair of Converse shoes. They were a specific color too, black ones. It was a fact that black ones were much easier to decorate if the time called for it. Now that her feet had stopped growing (at least she thought they had) she'd had the same pair of black converse sneakers for about a year now.

She could honestly say that they were now entangled in a sort of love affair, her sneakers and her. The black Converse, in its many versions, had been with her from the time she played hide and seek with the neighbors she no longer fit in with-- to the time where she found ones she did. They had been with her the first time she had fallen out of a tree, as well as through most of puberty. And more importantly, she had donned him when she had first walked the halls of high school.

And now they'd be there with her as she'd enter her last year at the place-- of course, now the only difference was that she was new. Completely and utterly new. She didn't know whether she hated her parents more for making her move during her last year of high school, or for making her leave all her friends behind, or... for _ruining _her life. It was probably all three, now that she considered all the facts.

Her sneakers were the only thing that remained solid in her life. They were the foundation of who she was. She didn't care for the makeup and jewelry and pretty skirts of her peers, she cared about her _sneakers_. She cared about her grades, and friends, and the rest of her life. Yet, somehow her parents failed to notice this. Not that they were pushing her to do better but her report card and other awards had merely been celebrated with a "Good job Clara, keep up the good work!"-- and it usually ended there. Not that she could blame them either, her mother was a very busy doctor and her father was an even busier lawyer. With a couple of those parents you'd think she had the perfect life... but she didn't, not really. Her parents didn't approve of her shoes, you see. The few times she saw them they complained once and again about why she hadn't gotten _new _sneakers. Her mother was especially adamant about it.

"CLARA BRYANT IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW--" Her mother's voice bellowed from below, and immediately she broke out of her reverie. Senior year was going to happen whether she liked it or not.

After brushing her teeth and mussing her hair, she grabbed a pair of jeans, one of her favorite black t-shirts, and of course-- her black sneakers. Throwing her long hair behind her shoulder, she grabbed her old red corduroy book bag and headed down the stairs where she met her parents, who were in the process of eating breakfast.

Her mother was reading the paper, munching on some toast-- and looking as though she was about to burst a vein. She was the quintessential career mom. Her light brown hair was tied up into a tight bun and she wore small pearl earrings (although why she would need them at a hospital is beyond her)-- she was already checking her watch, watching that she wouldn't be late. Her father, who was reading some document or other, already had his dark suit on and black hair perfectly primmed. She sighed, _just another normal morning in the Bryant household._ Her parents had yet to notice her arrival so she coughed loudly as she sat down with some orange juice and a piece of toast. They looked up to her startled.

"Clara!" her mother exclaimed and Clara bit her tongue. "Are you ready? We're going to be late! I don't know what takes you so long in the morning--"

"WELL, then we should get going," she interrupted, to stop another one of her mother's tirades. "I don't want to miss the first day of a miserable year, after all." The sarcasm was biting. It was also her specialty.

So she was still bitter. You would be too if you had to move away from everything you'd ever known. Her mother and father exchanged a meaningful glance that didn't go unnoticed by her. Luckily, they chose to keep their mouths shut on the subject for now.

Her mother stood up and grabbed her purse among a couple of her other things-- pausing only to give her daughter a once over. "Clara, why must you insist on dressing as though you don't own anything other than jeans and t-shirts." Right, she _didn't _just own jeans and t-shirts-- the trouble was, everything her mom had ever given her was safely stashed away in the back of her closet. Along with every _other _article of clothing her family had given her.

Her father nodded in agreement. "_And _that you don't own a brush."

She frowned, fingering her hair. She didn't know what the trouble was-- she had long hair, it was wavy, it was black, and she liked having long bangs to cover her eyes with. The need for a brush seemed irrelevant.

"They cover your eyes," he continued to mutter, and she couldn't help but grin. In a strange way, this was his way of complimenting her. She didn't mind her eyes, they were a nice shade of light blue and all-- but they weren't anything special. Her mom was already out the door, and she immediately chugged down the rest of her juice before rushing out after her. Way to start the morning off with a bang.

_Well, East High School-- here I come._

* * *

So the myth was solved-- the Z section did, in fact, exist. Miserably, he ran back as fast as he could to make at least the last five minutes of homeroom-- he was going to get killed, he just knew it. When he opened the door, his heart sank somewhere to the region of his stomach. Darbis. 

Why did it have to be Darbis?

_How _was it Darbis?

Was fate hell bent on making sure he was miserable?

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, thinking that perhaps if he was quiet enough he could slide into his seat as Darbis milled around her shelves looking for something. All eyes were on him as he entered-- tip-toeing, if you will, closer to his seat. Yes... yes! She hadn't noticed anything yet, he was almost in the clear... he was going to make it! He had one hand on the desk when quite suddenly one Larry Knight (who found himself sitting in the front row as usual) let out what had to be the most enormous, most loud, most obnoxious sneeze Troy had ever heard.

It _almost _sounded on purpose-- but he wasn't going to go there. Cringing, he froze in place, closing both eyes tightly together. If Darbis hadn't turned around for that one, then maybe fate really _did _like him.

"Mr. Bolton?"

Not a chance then, he supposed.

Her shrill voice came from behind him, and opening one eye first and then the other he turned around-- shrugging apologetically as he slid into his seat. From the corner of his eye he could see Chad giving Larry a hard smack on the head (as well as hastily wiping his hand afterwards).

"Ms. Darbis! Er-- so, homeroom together, again..." he stuttered out. Ever since he'd been in the musical she'd always been, a _little _bit nicer. Maybe this _nicer _would somehow take effect... now?

"Yes, it would seem so," she continued, lofty as usual. "I trust your summer went well?"

He shifted uneasily in his seat, wondering if she was preparing to laser him into the next century. "Yes... very well."

Clasping her hands together she approached the board. "Wonderful! You can tell me all about it in detention. Today, after school."

He groaned. He was sure he heard Chad groan. The day was really getting off on the wrong foot. With that, the bell signaled their release. The day, in essence, followed in much of the same manner. Gabriella was only in a couple of his classes, Chad seemed to disappear after homeroom, and although him and Sharpay got along better since the musical-- she was still a bit irritating to spend two periods in a row with. Ryan's presence helped, although it too came with its own ups and downs. (Some being having to explain himself twice for any sentence that came out too complicated.)

When lunch arrived, he had never been more thankful. Lunch was going to be his _favorite _period. He sat down, accompanied by Gabriella (who still couldn't kick the silly little grin that had settled on her face upon hearing of his detention) and Taylor (the girl who'd become her best friend). Chad was off with the rest of the team, as things had gotten a little awkward ever since Taylor and Chad broke it off. The split hadn't exactly been... _clean_, and with emotional baggage like that you couldn't _just start _talking during lunch again. Now Troy and Gabriella split the time between the two of them, both secretly wishing that they'd just talk it out once and for all. Enough to be civil at least.

The usual lunch chit-chat was quickly interrupted by the arrival of Sharpay, donning an entirely pink outfit to celebrate the first day of the year. So they weren't exactly enemies, they weren't exactly best friends, but settled somewhere between civil and friendly-- which was more than could be said when Gabriella first arrived at East High.

Without so much as a 'How was your summer?' she slid onto the bench, hunched over in a conspiratorial fashion. "Have you heard?"

You could tell Taylor was having a hard time containing an eye-roll, Gabriella merely giggled and answered for him. "Heard what Sharpay?"

A look of horror spread onto her features immediately. "HEARD WHAT? I can't believe you _haven't_! The drama department is putting together another musical! Now, I should probably keep this to myself-- but you know me, I like to level out the playing field... make sure I win _fairly _and all. Just letting you know auditions are in three weeks, you two should definitely be there."

Gabriella and Troy exchanged a look, the wheels already turning in their minds though he could distinctly sense hesitation. Once mastered, Gabriella's various expressions were easy to read. This one had hesitation written all over it.

"Well!" Sharpay continued, apparently content with having a one way conversation. "I've got to be off!" her eyes slid to their left, where Ryan was currently throwing up his hands as though in search of aid. "I think Ryan accidentally ate apple sauce again-- he's _allergic_." Grumbling, she walked off in his direction, leaving the three of them to their own devices.

"So, are we going to see the comeback of Troy and Gabriella-- on stage, in lights, that sort of thing?" Taylor asked them, smirking as she took a bite out of her sandwich. With a sideways glance at Gabriella, and he could tell she was already getting nervous just thinking about it.

"Well-- what do you say Gabs?" he asked.

She looked at him, gulped down whatever she was chewing and shrugged. "I don't know... it's been such a long time. What if I end up freezing up?"

He gave a short laugh and put an arm around her shoulders. "You're fantastic-- you won't freeze up. I'll be there with you! And in any case, it's just an audition."

She seemed to consent, opened her mouth to answer, and instead gave an odd little expression he couldn't place. Following her eyes, they fell on a girl that looked about their age-- dark hair, about Gabriella's height, with a red bag at her side. "What is it? Who's she?"

Gabriella frowned, as though remembering something particularly icky. "New girl. She's in my homeroom... I offered to show her around but she didn't seem to want it."

"Didn't seem to want it?" Taylor echoed, incredulously. "Gabriella, she might as well have suggested you eat glass." She paused, turning towards Troy. "Not very friendly, that one."

Dismissing the subject, they turned back to their meals. With a musical in the works, there was no telling what might happen next.


	3. Z42

_A/N: Thanks much for still reading! Yes, this fanfiction thing sure does get addicting xD._

_ChaylorFnficPrincess -- As for Chad and Taylor, you can expect them to make a few appearances (and find out TEHREASON for break-up) as the story runs along mwuaha.. ha. :)_

_Disclaimer: Er... well, you know. I don't own it STILL, if you're wondering._

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**Chapter Three: Z-42.**

"Listen-- what was your name, Larry? We've had this conversation six times in the past few weeks. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Join. The. Chess. Club. Should I say it slower?"

Clara Bryant was not happy. In fact, she was mostly if not all _pissed_. This Larry Knight kid (she didn't even want to get started on his name) had somehow gotten it into his head that _she _was a perfect newest recruit-able member for the chess club. She'd also told him about a trillion times that she wasn't. _And _that he smelled. She had to hand it to him though, he was a persistent little bugger.

"Very well," he replied, his nose going up towards the ceiling. "I can see I've upset you! I'll _leave_."

She looked at him. She looked at her watch.

"All right, bye." She replied in a deadpan voice, taking off in the opposite direction-- leaving Larry, quite frustrated, where he stood. This would not be the end of it, he thought, no it would not!

She didn't know if maybe it was the lonerish vibe she was giving out. Maybe that's what was attracting all these people looking to recruit her in one of their clubs, as this school had more activities than she had probably participated in her entire life. Activities _up the wazoo_-- her friends back at home would be appalled. In any case, it'd been nearly three weeks since she'd started school and the friends situation was looking dire. At first her mother thought that perhaps the year was just getting off to a slow start, but after Clara had purposefully refused any offers of friend-to-friend activity-- her parents finally realized that this was all self-inflicted lonerdom. Though honestly, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Grumpily, she set off towards the stairs that would lead her down to the darkness. To her locker, in other words. Maybe they smelled it in her beforehand, she thought, and thought it better to give her a locker as far away from others as possible in case her diagnosis of the grumpy-blues was contagious. She'd gotten used to the descent as well as rushing between classes, but the smell of the place was still just as awful as ever. She hopped off the last step, the room opening out before her in a couple rows of old lockers. Apparently the Z-section wasn't the most popular.

The room always seemed to be leaking and wet-- the combination settling into a musty sort of smell. It was all dreadfully topped off by the depressing and flickering florescent lights on the ceiling, and the plain cement floors beneath them. After a moment's pause, she exhaled a deep breath, and made her way towards her locker. Z-41._ Awesome. _(Not.)

She threw open the door and stuck her head in, milling about as she looked for her favorite pen (she was sure that either Larry took it spitefully, or she'd left it here).

"Hey there."

The sound of the voice startled her and her head flew upwards-- unfortunately, while still in the locker, it came immediately crashing against the inside and after cursing loudly she pulled herself out of the locker.

"Christ, could you perhaps _not _sneak up on people like that?" she muttered as she rubbed her head and retrieved her notebook. Turning round to face the owner of said voice (associated now with bringer-of-pain) she was met with a pair of blue eyes and a mop of brown hair. (Well actually, she had to look upwards as he was at least a head taller than her.)

* * *

Embarrassed, he apologized and did the first thing he could think of-- stuck out his hand in front of him, in other words. "I'm er-- Troy Bolton." 

The girl looked up at him with an odd expression, and he couldn't tell whether or not she was going to slap him or take his hand-- thankfully, she took it without further protest. "Clara Bryant," she returned simply, and went back to whatever it was she was doing.

He'd been surprised to see anyone down here in the first place, that he hadn't really thought of the consequences of sneaking up on someone. Awkwardly, he went to open his locker-- now having recognized her as the girl Gabriella had pointed out in the cafeteria some weeks ago.

"So er, you're new right?" he asked, as means of making conversation. They'd share this terrible space for the rest of the year-- he might as well make conversation.

She scoffed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm new. What is it with this school-- you all telepathically connected? Do I give out a new _smell_?" Shaking her head, as though caught between amusement and irritation, she shoved her books into her bag and slammed her locker shut. Before he had a chance to answer she was already making her way out. "Well, see you around Troy Bolton."

He chuckled to himself and that was that, a pair of black sneakers was the last thing he saw as she climbed up the stairs.

Later that day, at dinner, new problems seemed to crop up. He'd spent the last weeks preparing himself for next week's auditions-- the musical, if anything, was different than the one he'd done before. This one was traced with a _slight _holiday theme, as it was to be performed for the upcoming holidays, yet it incorporated a lot of modern musical influences. In any case, he'd been at it for awhile now and he and Gabriella had once again asked for Kelsi's help. It was so great to be singing with her again that he'd just let everything sort of blur into the background. Not that his dad would let it for much longer.

"You know we have game coming up," he started, as he chewed on a particularly fiesty piece of meat. (It wasn't moving or anything. It was just near charred.) His mother's cooking had been a little _off _lately.

Troy smirked, shoveling in another spoonful of mashed potatoes. "Game coming up in a couple _months_, you mean."

"Yes, well, months can turn to seconds before you know it. I just want to make sure your head is in the right place-- and don't look at me like that, you know I'm all right with the musical... _and _the singing," Mr. Bolton continued, very heatedly defending himself. "Just don't forget the rest of your responsibilities, all right? This is the last year you'll play-- college scouts will be around, you've got things lined up... you don't want to ruin your chances, do you?"

"Alright, Dad, I _know_." Troy replied breathlessly, feeling the weight of the upcoming season (and entire year) suddenly fall onto his shoulders. His mother gave his dad a reprimanding look, but said nothing else. She was having a little trouble chewing as well. "Is there any other reason you're especially wound up?"

There was a short pause before his dad set down his fork, leaving Troy wondering just what exactly was going on. "Well-- the game, the one in a couple months... it's... _well_, against Hillside."

Troy now took this moment to choke on a piece of chewy meat. "W-what? Hillside isn't in our district! We've never played them before!"

"They re-drew district lines this past summer, Troy-- Hillside is _in _now." He sounded pretty irritated about it all, and rightfully so.

Hillside was home to Damien Sullivan. Ring a bell? If it doesn't, soon enough it will. See, Damien and Troy used to be pretty close friends you know-- hell, their mothers went through pregnancy together. Their fathers used to barbecue together. They used to stick things up their nose together.

Stuff like that.

Overall, they were inseperable-- the fact that they were next door neighbors only made things better. Then things just started to go to hell, but it wasn't _them _that had the problem... it was their _fathers_. Mr. Sullivan started-- well, the easiest way to put this is that he started mucking things up for his Dad. Throwing wayward accusations that could have cost him his job as a Coach, all born from an insignificant rivalry that was fueled by the greenest of envy. Naturally, Damien wasn't exactly the nicest petal in the bunch to Troy once things started to get out of hand. The rivalry passed down to the two sons, who quickly began to compete in any and all areas they could-- but basketball more than anything else. Their fued came to an abrupt end when Damien and the rest of the Sullivans moved, and they hadn't seen eachother since. They hadn't even been mentioned until today.

The trouble was, everyone knew (and as newspaper clippings proved) that Damien Sullivan was a star player on his basketball team-- for _Hillside_. So now that the prospect of facing Damien again was upon him, Troy felt like someone had just smacked him in the gut and left him a cowering mess.

"Oh."

Yep, that was about as much as his brain could muster.

"Troy? Are you alright, honey?" he heard his mother ask, but somehow it all seemed very far away from him.

Excusing himself from the table after he'd choked down a couple more mouthfuls, he ended up in his backyard-- his personal basketball court at the ready. He picked up an old ball and started to dribble as he walked around and occasionally threw it (though not too concerned on whether or not he actually _made _it). Damien Sullivan. The name felt foreign to even _think _about. He had never decided whether or not he hated the kid or missed him-- but they hadn't seen eachother since the end of 7th grade, so it wasn't like he'd had a chance. For awhile, Damien had been his best friend, in a way that Chad wasn't. Even in a way that Gabriella wasn't. Damien was just the kid that-- that _got it_, you know?

Then all of the sudden basketball was all there was, then there was just the rivalry, then there were just the insults that sometimes he wished he could take back. Whatever the case, he wouldn't look forward to the game-- but he had to make _sure _he won it.


	4. The Double A

_A/N: Thanks as usual for the fantastic reviews, they really keep me going ;)! (Well you know ... food and water and oxygen helps too OO hahaha...) Oh, and if anyone wonders later-- the song used in this chapter would be the DHT version of "Listen to Your Heart" (not the dance mix, obviously hahaha!)_

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**Chapter Four: The Double A-- Auditions and Art.**

The arrival of the auditions came with much anticipation-- well, at least on his part. Everyone seemed so wound up lately with the amount of work and planning for next year that hardly anyone dared showed a strand of enthusiasm for anything that wasn't studying. Except him, of course. And Gabriella, when he could convince her. Currently they were sitting in the large auditorium they had once sang together in, comfortably situated in the red cushioned chairs as things progressed. Auditions for minor roles came first-- and after an interesting display of interpretive dance (which really _wasn't _in the script) Darbus announced the start of the lead role auditions.

Now, this would be the part Troy should be excited about, right? Well-- of course he was excited, he just wasn't very _focused_. Ever since the news of Damien and the big game he'd had his mind on anything but what was right in front of him. He felt an arm nudge him softly, waking him up from his daydreams of sure _failure _against the one kid he needed to _not _fail in front of most.

"You ready?" Gabriella whispered, as Sharpay and Ryan took the stage-- they'd_ offered_ to go first, you see.

"Ready for what?" he asked dumbly, momentarily disoriented completely.

She looked at him with an odd expression, akin to him growing a second head. "Er... the audition?"

"Oh! Oh right, of course!" he covered frantically, reaching up to scratch his head and make sure that the bulk of him was on planet earth-- not wherever the hell it'd been before.

She didn't seem satisfied, and bit her lip in concern. "Are you all right, Troy?"

He looked at her and paused-- but only for a moment. He hadn't told her about Damien yet, or the look in his father's eyes whenever he talked about it. It was just... he didn't know what was stopping him. He'd always shared everything with Gabriella, and during the school years together they'd oftentimes skip lunch in the cafeteria and spend it on the rooftop just _talking_. If it was any other subject, he probably would have done the same. But this one? He couldn't bring himself to share it, like it was this personal battle in which _he _was the only guy that could solve it.

Typical boy.

In any case, he nodded and on an act of spontaneity leaned down and kissed her. "I'm fine Gabriella," he lied. It felt awful, but at the same time necessary. This seemed to quell her concern and the two drew their attention to the front of the auditorium where Sharpay and Ryan were taking the stage, for the first time ever-- _not _in full costume.

Perhaps they had learned their lesson from the years prior, but their act had distinctly changed. While inexplicably fraught with all the liveliness they couldn't help but provide, they had both toned down quite a bit. From the corner of his eye he could tell Gabriella was getting nervous, listening intently as Sharpay hit notes she couldn't possibly dream of achieving. Their rendition of _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_ was, if anything, memorable. The room filled with applause and Darbus seemed quite pleased with herself (as well as her two top Drama students) and looking down at her list, called out the two words that Troy had been waiting for.

"Troy Bolton, Gabriella Montez," she called, her voice as shrill as ever over the crowd. "You're up!"

They stood up from their seats, and made their way up to the stage-- Gabriella had grabbed a hold of his hand ever since they had entered the auditorium, and hadn't let go since. Now it was still quite contently clasped tightly around his. "Oh I can't do this," he heard her mutter under breath, and he gave her hand a squeeze before muttering back to her.

"_Yes _you can."

Further protests stopped seeing as they were now on stage. Kelsi was at the piano, and although she hadn't composed this musical-- instead arranging existing songs-- she was still at the head of all the musical creation and the such of it. The storyline itself was a sort of Romeo and Juliet type of thing, only set in the modern day (and this "Romeo" worked as a shoe shiner while "Juliet" climbed up the ladder as a famous actress-- you can see the dilemma). It was a classic in any case, and fitting that it should finally be performed at East High. Troy and Gabriella were set to perform one of the songs that marked a turning point in the relationship between the two leads, and so the pressure was on and it was _heavy_.

After the signal from Darbus to begin, he heard the piano start in the background and now _he _couldn't help but feeling like all eyes were on him (possibly because they were). Gabriella tugged on his hand, his mind falling back into the present and one look at her and his fears seemed to subside. When she opened her mouth and a steady note came out, he was sure that things were going to be all right after all.

_"I know there's something in the wake of your smile, I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yeah, you've built a love but that love falls apart, your little piece of heaven turns too dark."_

Her voice was steady, quiet, not as confident as Sharpay's had been-- but so much more full of something that Sharpay lacked, the ability to lay herself open for the world to see. Vulnerability at its finest. He cut in now, his own voice feeling foreign despite the fact they had spent weeks practicing the song.

_"Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile, the precious moments are all lost in the tide, yeah, they're swept away and nothing is what is seems, the feeling of belonging to your dreams._"

Together now they looked at each other, locking eyes and he tried to hide his grin-- the scene was about breaking up, guilt, and succumbing to a bitter fate. (Not about grinning, in other words.)

_"Listen to your heart when he's calling for you,  
Listen to your heart, there's nothing else you can do,  
I don't know where you're going and I don't know why,  
But listen to your heart before you tell him goodbye."_

And so they continued through the song, moving around the stage and giving the only performance they knew how to give-- as sincere and honest as they both were. Well, as he was _usually_. When they finished, the veil they both seemed to fall under when singing was lifted and the applause from those present now rang strong. Smiling, he looked at Gabriella and gave her a wink-- they had survived after all. The room soon emptied after further congratulations and a couple more "Job well done!" type comments were expelled, and hand in hand Gabriella and Troy left the auditorium chattering on about their performance and how they'd done in comparison to the others. The chatting all came to an abrupt stop at the sound of two very angry voices yelling in the hallway just outside.

"You got three days last week! TODAY COUNTS AS MY DAY." A female voice bellowed and Gabriella immediately bit her lip-- knowing exactly who was behind it. As both her and Troy quickly rounded the last corner they came face to face with a scene that might have been considered amusing under any other circumstances. Chad and Taylor were face to face-- throwing up their arms wildly as they yelled at each other, generally looking as though one of them was either going to burst a vein or they were **both **going to implode.

Chad crossed his arms defiantly. "You FAIL to remember that just a week ago you had _every _lunch period with them-- now how is that fair? I don't think it is! IS IT! **NO **IT ISN'T!"

"WHY DON'T WE LET TROY AND GABS DECIDE FOR THEMSELVES?"

Holy smokes. If someone so much as _dared _yelled one more time, someone's eardrum was going to have a bitch fit. Immediately, Gabriella launched herself between the two of them. "What's going on?" she asked disconcerted, and realizing that the two were now present the exes broke apart-- glaring as hard as they could at each other over Gabriella's shoulder.

Troy stepped forward, a bit shocked that it had come to this at all. "She's right-- what's going on? Is there really a need for _this _much yelling?"

"You can ask HIM!" Taylor chirped once more before crossing her arms and facing the opposite wall. Behind her, Chad made a face that might have been accompanied by a rude hand gesture (if she hadn't been a girl, that is).

Chad turned to face Troy, his face falling in obvious embarrassment. "We er-- well, we erm... we couldn't decide who's week it was to hang out with you guys." Leaning in towards Troy he added in a whisper, "And remember what I said about mountain lions and not petting them? Well _this _one is a godforsaken _grizzly bear_."

"I _HEARD _THAT."

Before Taylor had a chance to cut in further, and catching the helpless look in Gabriella's eyes he cleared his throat loudly and stepped in between the two as well. Looking from one to the other, he spoke. "Listen, guys-- we're starting to feel like kids in the middle of a nasty divorce. Can you... I don't know-- _maybe _talk it out?"

Taylor and Chad both looked at him as though he was going insane, and before anyone had a chance to agree or disagree Chad cut in and threw up his hands as though in defeat. "Forget this, I'm so _over _it." Shoving his hands into his pockets he muttered a 'See you later.' to Troy and took off stalking in the opposite direction.

Taylor took this moment to heave a sigh of frustration, and as Troy's eyes followed Chad down the hall-- they fell onto the large clock, marking exactly 4:30 PM. "Oh _shoot_," he said aloud, and checked his own watch just to be sure. He was late. His mom was going to be mad. Fantastic. "Listen Gabriella, I've got to go-- mom wanted me to meet her at this art exhibit, she thinks we're not spending enough _time _together." He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, at least his mom had her heart in the right place. He hoped. Giving her a quick kiss and throwing a goodbye in Taylor's direction he took off running towards the parking lot.

"Okay, Troy, sounds good?" Gabriella said to the piece of air that had previously been Troy. He was really acting odd lately.

Taylor rose an eyebrow as they watched him. "What's with him?"

"_No _idea," she replied, shrugging. The two girls turned round and headed towards the exit together-- they had a long night of studying ahead of them.

* * *

This was her element. I mean, she was _in _her element. The large hotel reception room was full of easels holding various pieces of art from around the county. You see, for as long as she could remember-- she painted. That was her thing. She doodled on the sides of her notes, she sketched where she shouldn't, and she painted. It'd started off as a silly sort of hobby when she first painted her own room-- in the house before this one. Then she just couldn't put the brush down and before anyone had realized it-- Clara Bryant and picked up herself a hobby, and one that she wasn't half bad at either.

Weeks ago, she'd submitted one of her pieces into the exhibit. She was always a little bit weary about those sorts of things, I mean-- wouldn't you? To have some complete stranger judge something that might as well be a piece of her was just, _unnerving_. Somehow she'd swallowed up the courage to do so and when she was finally informed that she'd actually _won _second place-- she was ecstatic. Sure, it wasn't first or anything. But it was second, and _second _was a pretty damn good place to start-- especially in a county where none of her work was recognized, and she hadn't grown up around the people that ran this thing. Walking around as she viewed the various pieces she couldn't help but feel just a little bit more at home in this town. The reception room was uncharacteristically full, and after chit-chatting a bit with the sponsors (who congratulated her on many levels)-- she now found herself here, alone. That was, until she totally bumped into someone, and _hard_.

She felt a pair of arms grab onto her to stop her from falling face first on the carpet, and then immediately let go as well. Rubbing her shoulder, she glanced at the source of all the pain. "Geez, are you out to get me or is it just my luck?"

Again, she was met with the same pair of blue eyes and the same mop of brown hair. The kid from the locker room-- appropriately wearing an apologetic expression. What was his name again? Cory? Tom? Maybe it was somewhere in between.

AHA! Troy. That's what it was.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's really not my mission to disable you."

She rose an eyebrow, wary of starting to get on speaking terms with anyone of her school-- but what the hell, the kid looked like he was out of place here and _bad_. The shifty eyes, the hands in the pockets, it all amounted to one thing: he was dragged here.

"So, you don't really look like this is your thing?" she offered, and began to walk down the aisle of pieces again-- she expected he'd either follow or... well, not. The outcome was really the last thing on her mind.

As expected, he began to walk beside her-- still shifting uneasily every once in awhile. "Not really, my mom wanted to spend some extra time together," he replied, shrugging. "Now I've lost her-- had no idea these things were so crowded."

Moms wanting to spend time with kids? This was news to her.

"Oh, well-- this one looks especially crowded," she replied absentmindedly, her attentions drawn to a piece that had done a magnificent job with color. "I mean, I've been to loads of them and they're never this busy."

He paused with her, looking at the piece she was but not seeming to find the connection at all. (To his credit, he did a good job of looking as though he did.) "So you do this type of stuff?"

She paused, biting her lip in thought. "Yeah, well, it's an interest. People have interests."

She'd been so enamored in what she was looking at that she hadn't even noticed when he'd stopped talking. Thinking he might have left, she turned around-- only to be met with the back of his figure, paused and looking at what appeared to be a piece of art. She was _surprised_, I suppose you could call it. Walking up next to him she crossed her arms and gestured to the piece. It was the picture of a girl-- very young, around five or so with long blonde hair. The portrait could have looked common under any other circumstances, but the girl's blue eyes were wide and vulnerable-- in them visible the sweetest innocence of a child. Dreams, ambitions, and imagination wrapped up in one expression.

"You like that one?" she asked.

After a long pause, he crossed his arms and nodded. "Yeah, I do," he finally said. "She looks sort of-- I don't know, sort of like you wish you could now. Like all that matters is playing in the mud and fairy tales." His attention was suddenly caught by something else, and he looked upwards, a grin sliding onto his face. "I think I see my mom, better get back before she starts thinking I bailed on her," he made to leave and with a slight pause gave her a nod (the sort of nod you use for saying goodbye). "See you around Clara Bryant!"

She realized he was mimicking her last informal departure. Ha. Funny. He was a _riot_. As he left she crossed her arms, viewing the piece they had just been looking at. Her eyes fell to the silver ribbon on the bottom right edge and her face broke out into a smile.

Second place. Nope, it wasn't a bad place to start _at all_.


	5. Announcements

_A/N: YIKES! I got some reviews and they were real nice 3. (I tried to rhyme :P!) Haha and yes, HopelessWanderer, I update fast because I have too much time on my hands. (Sorry about school and all LOL!) I actually have about eight chapters of this thing written (I try to keep them not so obscenely long), but I like two be at least two ahead of the current one before posting xD. I'm just odd like that. I'm glad some of you don't completely hate Clara:) She's my baby. Thanks for leaving reviews when you read! It makes me feel speshial. Hahaha._

_Disclaimer: I disclaim disclaim disclaim. Except for Clara. readabove_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Announcements**

Today was Monday. Mondays usually meant a couple things at East High. First of all, there would be chicken strips in the cafeteria for lunch-- immediately setting off a long line of students who would all hungrily wait for the only particularly good dish their cafeteria had to offer. It would also mean marching band practice, which would be-- as usual-- disrupted by a pair of trouble-making troublemakers (today would involve spray paint). It would mean freshly painted nails, wide awake students, and the inward groan that every single individual shared at the idea of having four more days of school ahead of them.

The most important thing about Mondays though was that the notice board was cleaned off old notices, papers, and advertisements-- and today the board would hold a particularly important new item. The list of names who'd made the musical. Understandably, as soon as the school's doors opened the rush of last week's audition-ers immediately crowded around it. Troy had given Gabriella a ride to school today-- and you know what that meant? Soon they were crowding around the big board with the names too.

"Ugh, Troy-- can you see anything?" he heard Gabriella whimper from below-- at times, it would seem her shortness was a curse. Especially in a large crowd of people. He grinned and told her he'd go up front to look.

After carefully maneuvering his way through the crowd, a couple elbows there a few "Hey mans!" here and voila! To the front of the line he was. He'd been trying to hide his nerves from Gabriella the entire morning, feeling as though his heart might just come out from his throat at any second now-- despite the fact that he was supposed to be cool, calm, collected and that sort of thing. The trouble was, now he could _definitely _feel his palms get a little sweaty. He lifted a finger to the list, and ran down the names. Coming upon what he was looking for he immediately leaped up into the air, attempting to spot Gabriella.

"Gabriella!" Hop. "We made it!" Hop. "WE'RE IN!"

His last hop over the crowd and he could already see her jumping up and down excitedly, and carefully he made his way back through the crowd to her. Picking her up in a big hug he grinned himself silly. "I told you! You were great-- they _loved _it!"

As quick as a summer storm, Sharpay was upon them-- with Ryan in tow. The two stood across from Gabriella and Troy, wearing an identical set of frowns-- and Troy couldn't help but look at Gabs with a worrisome expression on his face. Were they angry? Was a WWF smack-down about to take place here in the middle of the hall? Surely, he thought they had gotten over the petty rivalry ages ago. Their fears were immediately dispersed when a large grin slid onto Sharpay's face.

"Well, _Gabriella_-- or should I say: Priscilla Peabody, up and coming _famous _actress. Meet your new, only _slightly _eccentric, best friend Lolita!" Sharpay squealed, as she explained to the two of them that not only had she landed a role as the lead's best friend (though smaller than the lead, still prominent)-- but that she and Ryan were their official understudies as well. (Ryan then explained his _crucial _role as the butler.)

With that, the foursome walked down the hall-- agreeing to meet up later for the musical's first official meeting after school. Troy took Gabriella's hand in his, and even though Sharpay was still walking besides her and jabbering on about what fun it was all going to be-- they had just enough privacy to give each other each an intimate sort of smile, the one thing they reserved solely for the other. Gabriella turned away, back to chattering with Sharpay, but he could still feel his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He was pretty sure it wasn't he lack of breakfast either. You see, Troy Bolton was in _love_. Yes-- the Big L. Was it so hard to imagine? For a while now he tried to pinpoint the exact moment that he had realized it-- and in truth, he could only come up with one answer.

Since the day he first laid eyes on her.

Alright, _alright _so the whole idea was a little bit of a mess-- and all his friends would get a big laugh if they ever got inside of his head, but Gabriella was the real deal. Everytime they were in the same room it was like something inside of him suddenly made more sense, and when she wasn't-- it was like... well like that piece was just _missing_. Not that four months together had gotten him any closer to saying it out loud-- he almost felt like they just had an understanding, or maybe that it was something too important to risk just throwing out there. Maybe they both just wanted to be sure, or maybe he was just kidding himself. So he was scared. It was a scary thing though, wasn't it?

* * *

She didn't know how the hell she'd gotten talked into this. I guess the dilemma was, she hadn't really gotten _talked into _it at all. There was actually very little talking that took place at all. If she recalled correctly, last week she walked in through her door-- and her mother informed her, quite breezily, that she had signed her up for the musical. Working on the set design.

Fantastic, wasn't it? Clara didn't know whether or not Darbus and her mother were both secretly planning on ruining her life even further-- but it was a combination of her mother's insistence that she had to get involved in some sort of activity to make some friends _and _threatening to burn her shoes that had gotten her to finally agree. So now here she sat in the auditorium, wearing her usual pair of jeans and particularly dark black t-shirt _and _her sneakers-- propped comfortably up on the seat in front of her. She was also trying extra hard to make sure her bangs were as much in her face as possible. She would have almost been comfortable-- almost, because if you really had to know... Larry Knight had claimed her as his seat buddy, and now found himself in the seat next to her. Giving off that _smell_ that she still couldn't quite place.

Now, Larry seemed like he had his intentions in the right place, but really-- it took all her power not to just tell him to take a godforsaken shower. The room began to fill out and Larry continued to jabber mindlessly at her.

"Yes-- this year the technical aspects of the musical will be on par with the professionals-- at least, I plan to make sure of it..."

Oh Christ. She was going to have _how _many more months of this? Soon enough Darbus situated herself at the front and cleared her throat loud enough (Clara was pretty sure the woman popped a lung in the process) to get everyone's attention.

"Students! Welcome all to our first meeting," she clasped her hands together, looking at them all with the brightest of eyes. "You, dears, are a group of fine young men and women about to take part in an even finer experience-- the _musicale_."

Well how _fine_-tastically _fine _of her _fine_ness. Fine.

"Now, first things first." Looking down at her clipboard with a set of glasses that looked about a century old (Clara was already doing the math)-- she scanned down the names, reading off each and the tasked assigned to them. "Of course, we have Gabriella Montez and Troy Bolton as our leads..." she continued to name off the names but with the mention of one Troy Bolton she shifted in her seat and looked backwards. Ah, so there was that kid again. Truthfully, they hadn't run into each other again since the art exhibit, but since they'd spoken more than sentence to each other (but not by very much) he still qualified as one of the kids she could _almost _call an acquaintance.

She really hoped that by some miracle the woman would miss her name, but after proudly announcing the technical crew-- there was no choice but to move on to set design. "Ah, this year Mary Ellen Andrews will be joining us as our set manager-- props, set design, it will all be under her leadership!" The room gave a short applause, as they'd been doing and her eyes fell on a particularly blonde and blue-eyed female who had on the nicest sweater-vest she'd seen in a long time. She now had the urge to vomit. "Thomas Erving, Jessabelle Lanning, Frederick Rodriguez, and Clara Bryant will be joining her!" After a moment's pause, Darbus' eyes fell on her feet and a deep frown now replaced the smile. "Miss. Bryant, if you could please keep your feet on the floor-- yes, thank you."

She now took a moment to try to sink herself as far into her seat as possible. (And kept her feet away from all chairs.)

With the initial introduction over, the meeting split off into the various group so that they could get various things assigned and planned out. Mary Ellen seemed fairly neurotic about it, to tell you the truth and kept muttering things like the word 'perfect' and 'no mistakes' and she could've sworn she heard a 'die' somewhere in there. Whatever the case, the meeting was long and tedious and seeing as there was nothing much left for the set crew to do without materials-- they were excused before the singers were (who had apparently launched straight into rehearsals). Sighing heavily, she walked through the maze of the backstage and collected her red bag, slinging it over her shoulder just as Troy and the girl Gabriella began to practice one of the songs. She stood still, struck between leaving and wanting to stay-- if only to satisfy her curiosity.

Her mother would probably be late anyways, and so she shifted to a place where she couldn't be seen, embarrassed that she was interested at all. She _just _wanted to see if she was about to spend months sweating and bleeding over a set for people that might or might not suck at what they did, she rationalized. From behind the curtain, she listened intently, watching as the two began to sing and surprised by a talent she didn't expect come from either of them. The girl was in a couple of her classes-- in all honestly, looked like she had a stick lodged up her rear most of the time, didn't like to talk in class, and mostly mumbled. She didn't either, but then she had an excuse-- she was moody, _all _the time. It was her nature. Troy on the other hand, well, she'd learned enough in a few weeks to sort of place him on the social scale at East High. He wasn't exactly the type of guy you'd expect to be able to sing like-- well, like he _was _right now. The two _together_, it was all a little overwhelming, and as the song came to an end she turned towards the exit, happy to have gotten out of the building and into the fresh air.

Glancing at her watch, a blaring 5:30 PM stared back at her. Her dad was out of town, so she'd have to wait for her mom whether she liked it or not. She really sort of hated never getting her license. From inside her pocket, she reached for her cell and pulling it out she realized she had a new voice mail.

"Sorry hun! I'm running a little late-- everything's a bit hectic right now, if you could just wait a little bit longer I'll be there as soon as I can!" Her mother's voice came from the other line, sounding breathless and downright frazzled. As the message clicked to an end, Clara sighed heavily and sat down on the sidewalk. 'As soon as I can' with her mother usually meant hours.

When she looked at her watch again, it was nearing 6:45 PM and to tell you the truth-- her bum was starting to go numb. Her legs were crossed and stretched out in front of her and she was leaning back on her hands, staring up at the quickly darkening sky and all the brilliant colors that it presented to her as day faded into night. If this were any other time, she could appreciate this sort of view in peace. As it was, she--

"You _still _here?"

Ok, this guy _really _needed to get a new way of starting conversations with her. Nearly falling out of her skin, she looked upwards at Troy and merely shrugged in reply. "Yep, mom's running late. It's no big, she does this all the time." Who was she kidding, it _really _irritated her each and every time it happened.

He wasn't leaving-- was there a reason he wasn't leaving?

"If you want I could give you a ride home?" he continued, scratching his head as his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. "It's not really the _safest _to sit alone, late, in the dark, behind a big building where no one can see you and... should I continue?" He grinned and held out a hand for her.

Ugh, she was now faced with either a full frontal social experience-- or waiting here. Alright, so the choice was easier than she made it look-- but hey, she had a reputation to uphold. "Oh I can take care of myself just _fine _Bolton," she quipped, taking his hand and pulling herself up from the sidewalk. "I used to do kick-boxing and once this guy came out of _nowhere _one night-- well, let's just say his nose was never the same again," she was only half-serious and smirked. Dusting herself off she gathered her things. "But a ride _does _sound nice, thanks."


	6. Busy much?

**Chapter Six: Busy much?**

The sweat might as well have been dripping into a big reservoir, piling up as a giant symbol of all the work he was putting into practice and all things basketball. His teammates, on the other hand, didn't find the constant late night practices very fun-- in fact, they'd been at this for about a half a month now and were sure that soon they were either going to drop flat on their backs or flat on their faces. Or flat on just about any body part that wasn't already sore. This particular night Troy had talked his dad into letting them use the gym a little while longer than usual, but after a couple hours and some minutes of everyone struggling he sensed the change in atmosphere and announced the end of practice. Thankfully, everyone split off into groups, staggering towards the locker rooms and chugging down as much water as they could muster.

Chad approached Troy, his shirt drenched and a hand on his side. Together they started to walk towards the locker rooms. "Troy-- now, you know better than anyone I am for 100 basketball 100 of the time. But er... any reason we've handed over our souls to you?"

"Look, if you don't want to win--" Troy snapped back irritably, and Chad interrupted by throwing his hands up in peace.

"I _never _said I didn't want to win. I just don't get why you're getting so _intense _about practices," Chad replied, getting a bit irritable himself. Troy was supposed to be his best friend, and he was acting all sorts of strange lately and not giving any explanation for it. This whole basketball boot camp was getting way out of hand. "Is there something going on?"

Troy seemed to deflate now. "No, nothing is wrong," he muttered, lying through is teeth and hoping he was a good enough actor. "Sorry about snapping, I just have a lot going on right now."

They entered the locker room now, the smell of dirty gym socks strong in the air. He opened his locker and pulled out a change of clothes. Chad did the same at his own, only a couple down from Troy's. "I know the practices seem a little... _much_," Troy continued, pulling his shirt up and off over his head. "I just think we should... get... focused."

Chad shook his head, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "_Focused?_ Troy! Man! We've won every game we've played since the championship-- we're _in _with Lady Luck, my friend."

Troy's expression darkened, but he didn't dare say anything aggressive. "I _know _all that, but just _luck _isn't going to help us win against Hillside."

His friend was about to answer, but Troy was suddenly struck with a realization. Oh _shit_. He was going to be in for it now. He was definitely never going to be forgiven for this one. Turning around swiftly, he banged his head on his locker in defeat-- shoot shoot _shoot_.

"Woah, dude, what's wrong?" Chad's voice came from his left.

"Date. With Gabi. Forgot. Completly._ Dead._" It was about all he managed to sputter out before he swiftly changed the rest of his clothing and just about _ran _towards the parking lot.

When he finally arrived at her house, he parked his truck in the driveway and for a while he just sat there in the driver's seat contemplating his next move. He really didn't know what to expect. Would she be mad? Probably. Irritated? Most likely. There was really no positive way he could look at this so gathering up his wits he exited the vehicle and made his way to her front door. With his hands nervously at his sides, his arms feeling like two big hunks of nothing, he reached up and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, the door swung open-- on the other side, a rather irritated Gabriella Montez. Immediately she crossed her arms, and he cringed inwardly, knowing full well she only did that when she was especially mad at him (and that hadn't been for awhile).

"Gabriella, I'm _so _sorry-- I was at practice, I didn't realize what time it was and..." he trailed off, not really sure what else he could add to an already terrible apology. He looked at her, noting with a pain that she was still all dressed up and ready to go. Her hair was up in a ponytail, a small white skirt on that went to just above her knees, and a pretty blue sweater. The only thing that wasn't looking very pretty was that frown that was still on her face.

Instead of telling him he'd forgotten and he was a horrible person for it, like he'd expected, she said something he _hadn't_. "Is everything all right Troy?" she asked with concern, although trying her best to look mad. "I mean, you've _never _forgotten... you just seem so, like you're not even _here _lately..."

He should tell her. He should just open his mouth, let the name Damien Sullivan come out-- and tell her _everything_. What was stopping him? That's just _it_, he didn't know-- he didn't know what the hell was wrong with him lately. It just felt like this was _his_, and _he _needed to deal with it. After a long pause, he swallowed thickly and took a step forward, lightly taking a hold of her hand with one of his. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and as she didn't resist, he couldn't help but feel a little better. It hadn't taken him any time to get used to the feel of her hand in his, and now it was almost as natural as breathing.

"Gabriella..." he breathed softly. Her eyes read all sorts of concern, and he tried his best to avoid them by looking at their hands. "You trust me, right?"

She frowned a little, shaking her head. "Of course Troy, you know I do."

Smiling, he reached up with his free hand and lifted her chin up towards him gently. "Then _everything _is all right, okay?"

Leaning down, he pressed his lips gently against hers-- a butterfly of a kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. Soon after that, she ushered him into her house-- with the promise of pizza and a movie. Life was making sense again, at least for one night.

* * *

This wasn't how she'd planned her Senior year to happen. The truth was, she thought that maybe she'd spend it-- well, you know, she _didn't know_. But it wouldn't have been like this. Then again, just about everything in her life was far from anything she'd ever _planned _to happen. The musical, however, was taking over her life. With Mary Ellen at the head of the project (at least one aspect of it), Clara was fairly sure that her head was going to explode at any second. Either she wasn't cutting right, or she wasn't gluing right, or God forbid she was painting something in a way that Mary Ellen didn't think _proper_. The thing was, _here _she was again, another late night in the auditorium-- _another _late night of rehearsals.

She'd taken to listening a lot though. Listening to the singers perform behind her that is, and now she knew at least half of the songs by heart, often finding herself humming to them as she painted some new contraption. She'd also taken to the story of this modern day Romeo and Juliet-- Henry and Priscilla respectively-- and knew when people were supposed to move, when a table was supposed to be put in, when a backdrop had to be changed. Despite all her best efforts, she was starting to _enjoy _it-- and she didn't like that one bit. Of course, there was still a good month left before the musical would be performed and although it hadn't given her many new friends-- she'd at least started _talking _to more people. Within the set design group, she'd discovered that a certain Jessabelle was a willing model for portraits and paintings (although just a tad vain), but it didn't really matter because the girl was willing and Clara was always looking for new faces to paint. A couple other kids really weren't as bad as she'd made them out to be, except for Larry. Larry would always be as bad as she made him out to be. Troy had taken to giving her a ride home every time her mom was late, and the car ride over was always a lot of fun-- a lot of talking, too. At least, for _her_.

Tonight the crew was making their way out, calling it a day, and most parties had already left the auditorium. She still had a lot to accomplish before the next day, and she didn't want another lecture from Mary Ellen if she didn't. _Anything _but that. Heaving a big sigh, she waved her last farewells to her fellow set painters and took out the large buckets of paint she had to put on a few large planks of wood. Nothing spectacularly difficult, but it took one too many coats of paint to cover it all than she would've liked. With a brush in one hand, and a paint bucket in the other-- she dipped. A long line of dipping was sure to ensue.

"Staying late?"

Now, usually she would have jumped out of her skin, but she'd gotten used to Troy's fantastically terrible entrances. Without so much as missing a blink she started to paint the wood board in front of her. "If I don't want slave-driver Barbie on my back tomorrow, then yep."

He laughed and approached her, hand in his pockets as usual. She wondered if he had some sort of secret weapon in there that she didn't know about. Still, he fascinated her most every time she saw him-- not that they saw each other _loads_. Just during rehearsals and whenever she needed those rides (as well as the occasional brush when they were down at their miserable lockers), still, rehearsal enough made her wonder. _Him _singing? She still couldn't get over it.

"Need any help?" he asked, in accordance-- she supposed-- with the gentlemen's rule book.

Shrugging, she bent down and picked up an extra brush, throwing it in his direction. "Be my _guest_."

* * *

He grinned and took the brush, dipped it in some paint and started to work away at the big wooden board. Clara Bryant wasn't really as bad as everyone made her out to be, then again most people didn't know that she actually spoke to anyone outside of glaring. They'd been spending a lot of time together (relatively) in the past weeks. That is, when he could squeeze in some free time between basketball practice, the musical, Gabriella, his Dad, and er... well, the list was starting to make him depressed again-- so he choice to ignore every outside factor for the remainder of the night.

"So, how's this working out?" he asked, conversationally.

She merely shrugged, and he couldn't help but grin. She did that a lot-- and sometimes he couldn't tell whether she was truly disinterested, or just looking like that because she was supposed to. "It's not as bad as I thought I guess, but don't ever let my mom know that-- she wouldn't stop gloating for _ages_." She seemed to physically shudder, and he gave a short laugh. "So," she continued, still diligently painting. "How is the life of Bolton? If you don't mind me saying, lately-- when you sing-- you look like half your brain is in the building, and the rest is off somewhere else. Before you ask, yes, us mere _set people_ do notice these things."

He hadn't really been expecting this, although he _should _have. He still hadn't gotten used to Clara's brand of bluntness. It made talking easier though, he supposed, since at least he knew whatever she said was always what she meant-- most of the time. It sort of made him mean whatever he said too, in an... _odd _way. "I don't know, I guess I have a lot on my mind..." he replied, trailing off and unsure of what direction he should take.

"Hmmm, sounds like you could use a work out." She paused for a moment, then seemed to recover and continued on-- this time dipping into a different color. Looking very much at ease with the task at hand, he supposed is how he'd describe it. "I used to have this friend, she was very against having things on your mind. She said they weighed too much, and your head couldn't handle it and that eventually you'd tip over and never be able to stand back up. So, whenever I was worried about something she'd tell me 'Clara, tell me what's on your mind! It'll get it out of there, lose some weight-- a work out, you know? Even brains like to work out!'" This time she laughed out loud, and even from where he was standing he could tell she was enjoying the memory. "Oh she sure was something... I don't know, it helped though. Makes you feel a little lighter the more you talk about it."

He really couldn't understand what possessed him to say the things he said next, but when she threw him an encouraging smile after her short speech-- he couldn't really stop his mouth. "She sounds like she knows what she's talking about..." he muttered, hesitant at first. "I just, well... I have something coming up, something pretty big. I have to confront someone who used to be the closest friend I had-- and now, well, now we hate each other. I mean-- I don't know, I don't _hate _him. I don't think so. We have a game coming up against him, we... have to win? I just... I don't know, things are a pretty big mess right now." He could feel his face burning, knowing full well that he wasn't making any sense and that seeing as Clara was only a few steps away from a stranger-- he was also probably terrifying the daylights out of her. "Have you ever had that? Ever felt like you needed to win to make things better?"

Ok. Now he really wasn't making any sense. He also couldn't help but feel guilt pull away at his stomach as he realized what the hell he'd just said and who he'd said it to and who he _hadn't _said it to. He put the brush back down into the bucket as he muttered his apologies and made to leave. "Troy-- woah, wait up a minute." It was Clara again. He was surprised she hadn't spit on him yet (or worse).

"I haven't had that feeling... _exactly_, but I can understand it," she continued, cautiously. (Afraid of sudden movements now, you know the deal.) "Look, just look at it this way-- forget everything that's happened in the past. Life is too serious a subject to be taken seriously, you get me? If you're always looking forwards, then you don't have any reason to look backwards-- and _that's _the difference between winning and losing."

After a long pause, he sort of just stood there awkwardly. She was making sense, but he still couldn't help but feel a little bit odd about the situation. I mean, where the heck had _that _come from? Wasn't Clara Bryant supposed to be the world's greatest pessimist? Everything pointed in that direction, at least. He didn't have much time to consider it though, because before he knew it he suddenly felt a hard smack against his chest as a paint brush collided against it. It had been dipped in paint, he might add.

Paint and a chest smack could equal only one thing-- a temporarily ruined shirt. He heard her snort in the background.

"Now get back to painting!" she managed, looking as though she was trying to wear a serious expression and laugh all at the same time. "You offered, which means you have to finish."

That's when he got _it_-- that glint in his eye that suggested many a terrible fate. Dipping his hand into the nearest paint bucket he took a step towards one Miss. Bryant. "Oh, _I'll finish_!" Without another word, he flung a handful of paint in her direction-- watching contently as it collided against her face, coating it all a neat uniform blue. What ensued next could only be described as chaos, as various buckets of paint ended up on the other (not to mention the boards behind them). In the end, after viewing the mess they'd created of themselves as well as a small part of the backstage area, the two could agree on one thing.

Mary Ellen was going to be _pissed_.


	7. The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

_A/N: Sooo sorry it took long to update! I'm preparing to go off to University at the end of this month and it's been hectic :P. Really, thanks very much for the reviews (the pitchfork imagery was certainly impressive OO LOL). I'll try and update again again in a couple-- or one--days since this chapter was sort of short._

* * *

**Chapter Seven: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly.**

Lunch outside was quickly decided to be a bad idea-- at least, by the current parties present. Those being Gabriella, Troy, Taylor, and Ryan (the last of which was currently struggling with a growing itch by merely sitting atop this plant called 'lawn'). Troy and Gabriella had been at battle with a particularly stubborn bee, and Taylor was quick to complain about the heat. Sharpay remained the only one present who thought that getting a little sun was a _good _idea. Though the fact that it was an unnaturally pleasant day, considering the time of year, was quickly melting hesitant hearts. Currently the group was situated on a nice piece of lawn in front of the school, all spread out on the grassy area.

"So," Sharpay started, flipping onto her stomach and playing with a strand of her hair. "I've been thinking-- East High, is getting dull and fast. We need to plan something."

Taylor wasn't exactly enjoying Sharpay's company, but they'd found a common ground. They would and could achieve anything they set their minds to-- now, finding the common ground in _that _was beyond anyone's current capabilities.

"What do you mean Sharpay?" Taylor offered mechanically (drawing a giggle from Gabriella who currently had a lounging Troy's head resting on her lap). Sharpay threw a slight glare before sitting up onto her bum, a wide smirk grew onto her lips.

"Simple. We plan what any self-respecting teenager plans-- a party."

At the last word Ryan immediately straightened up, his momentary battle with itchy grass set aside. "A party? But Sharpay-- the last time we threw a party only two people show--" Cue Sharpay's hand colliding against Ryan's mouth.

"That was _different_," she hissed in return, throwing a few threatening glares in Ryan's direction. "The point is," she continued, "we can throw one in honor of, um... the musical! And... and the game that's coming up! Yeah, like a celebratory type of soiree!" She looked at Gabriella with a sort of pleading little glint in her eye-- and Gabriella looked down at Troy before answering. So much looking.

"Erm..." she started, "Yeah, that sounds like it could be fun."

"Yeah, so does sifting through garbage-- until you smell it," Taylor muttered, inaudible to all by Troy who couldn't help but let a wide smile slip onto his face. Sharpay noticed and mistook this for his way of saying he agreed.

"And Troy agrees!" she exclaimed, quite content with her idea and already falling silent as she planned for the event to come. They all looked between each other, dreading just what exactly was brewing in that blonde head of hair. Nothing else was said on the matter, and they continued to chatter on about a few meaningless topics-- as is appropriate for a lunch day spent lounging on grass. The only momentary disruption came when Troy noticed a head of black hair-- who's obvious owner was Clara-- being dropped off in the front of the school, apparantly late. He waved in her direction, but she didn't seem to notice him. And no one had noticed this not-so-magnificent occurence between the two, none except for Gabriella.

* * *

It'd been a week since Sharpay's initial idea of throwing a party in honor of all the big events that were about to go down. The popularity of the idea itself was also aided by the fact that they'd all had to deal with things like SAT and ACT and LMNOP and _all _of them really needed a break from abbreviations and most letters of the alphabet. She'd gone an extensive advertising spree, making flyers and putting them up on every free surface she could. Clara Bryant, for one, was now staring at that very neon pink flyer as she sat on the sidewalk behind the auditorium-- her dad, this time, late in picking her up. She wasn't really interested in going, since the entire idea went against her entire philosophy of glaring and minimal social interaction. Of course, the neon was doing a great job of highlighting the fact that her social skills sucked and that maybe she should just _try _it out.

She was fighting that little voice in her head though, and _hard_.

As soon as she saw Troy come out through the exit, she gathered her things and got ready to leave. Now most days he didn't ask if she wanted a ride, it was just assumed. If she was still sitting there by the time he got out-- then he'd just take her home. She'd offer to pay for the gas money on numerous occasions, but he wouldn't really have any of that. Nonetheless, she was grateful (because who knows how many kidnappers she'd have fought off by now).

"Rehearsal went well?" It's how most of their conversations started. Ever since the paint fight, things had been a little weird-- like they couldn't decide whether they were friends or whether they were still just acquaintances. At least, on her part. She wasn't really into this getting new friends business. They had been right, in any case, Mary Ellen had been pissed (but Clara honorably took all the blame for it-- embellishing the story _just _a bit to include a wayward racoon that had somehow gotten inside and knocked over various cans of paint).

They arrived at his dark blue truck, and she opened the side door-- taking a seat in the passenger's side. "Alright I guess," he replied. "Darbus seems to think we need more work though-- I'm not the greatest er, _actor_."

"Oh," she replied, rummaging through her bag as she looked for her granola bar. She was hungry (and granola was good for you don't you know). "Well you and Gabriella are really fantastic together, so I don't know what she's talking about." She'd put two and two together enough to know that they were dating-- not just _dating_, but were more or less East High's_ It couple_. They both fell silent then, after Troy muttered a bashful 'thanks' and the car ride progressed on.

See, her house was sort of out of the way and all. Unlike many of her peers that were just around the corner, you had to take this one road that seemed to stretch on for ages (Heat Stroke Avenue-- as she'd lovingly come to refer to it) before coming upon the small settlement of new homes, one of which was her own. And really, it embraced New Mexico at its finest. Long stretches of flat land, a few cactuses, brilliant sunsets. Today was one of those days when the day was starting to fall into night, and the sun was setting and the sky was exploding into a plethora of colors-- from purple to deep red to dark orange to everything in between-- that as they were driving down that Heat Stroke Avenue she couldn't help but let what she was thinking slip onto her lips.

"Beautiful." She whispered to herself, but it didn't go unnoticed by Troy. Suddenly she realized the car was slowing down, and they were pulling off the black pavement and onto the dusty stretch of land. As clouds of it billowed on the sides of the car she looked at Troy with a questioning (and quite frankly, worried) expression. "Er-- what are we doing?" she asked, as the truck bumped around over rocks and dips in the land.

He merely smirked as he continue to maneuver the vehicle. "Stopping, obviously."

Rolling her eyes, the vehicle finally came to a stop, the trunk now facing the setting sun. "But _why _are we stopping?"

"To see the sunset, obviously."

She glared in his direction. "If you use the word _obviously _one more time, I _will _stick a fingernail into your eye," she managed to call after him, as he stepped out of the car and walked towards the back. He stopped taking her insults and threats seriously a month ago, and it was really starting to irritate her. She had no choice but to step out of the car herself, and join him where he was sitting on the truck-- climbing over the ledge and finding herself a nice spot on the metal surface.

"Bolton, you're crazy. You know that?"

Instead of answering, he just grinned away the comment and fixed his attention on the sky before them. The two once again sat in silence, although not of the uncomfortable sort. He didn't know what had possessed him to stop the car, but she seemed so interested in it-- and he couldn't resist the view of the sun setting here. In truth, he was just looking for a break. Everything seemed to be closing in on him, and his Dad was doing a brilliant job of reminding him that he had a game coming up against Hillside-- and Damien, for that matter. The ever impending decision that he had to soon pick a college where he'd spend the next four years of his life was also upon him. The fact that he had to do really well in the musical-- yes, that _too _was on his shoulders. And more importantly, him and Gabriella's six month anniversary was coming up fast-- and he knew that then, if at any time, was when he finally had to use the big L-word.

So you can see that stopping just for the sake of seeing a sunset was a welcomed experience.

Before they knew it, the sun had dipped under the horizon and a brilliant set of stars hung above them both-- like diamonds fixated in a blanket of night. "Somehow, the stars seem to shine brighter in New Mexico," Clara commented off-handedly, breaking the silence.

He chuckled, laying himself out on the bed of the truck. "Does it make you miss home?" he asked, referring to wherever Clara had first come from-- none of which he was very sure of.

"Oh, no, as long as you have stars you never miss home," she replied, pausing for only a fraction of a second. "I mean, they're the same everywhere you know? When I was younger, I'd er-- well I'd make up my own constellations. For moments I really wanted to remember, I'd give them stupid names too like... _Fountain Majoris_. (For this one time I fell into a fountain when I was 9.) So now I can look at them from anywhere, find my constellations, and feel at home." Her eyes slid back onto Troy, and suddenly she felt a whole lot more embarassed than she'd started out. The point hadn't ever been to find the exact constellation (because that would have been almost impossible), the point was to feel like you _could _find it. "Er-- pretty lame, huh?" She ended, trying to cover up her enthusiasm.

He propped himself up on his elbows. "No-- not lame at all. I could just never manage it," he joked. Again, the mood was back to normal.

* * *

Despite the fact that it was _him _that had chosen to stop here, he couldn't feel a little-- a little _odd_. In the pit of his stomach, an unfamiliar feeling was starting to nibble at him. Guilt. He'd been feeling guilty ever since he'd told Clara about Damien (well, in a manner of speaking), and had promised that he'd tell Gabriella about him the very next day but when it suddenly came to facing her-- he just couldn't. Now he was starting to feel like that again, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Nevertheless, the night was perfect and he wouldn't let whatever strange thing had come over him ruin it.

From his position, his eyes were level with her sneakers-- an entity in itself that was starting to fascinate him. They were pretty disgusting really. Ripped and torn and written all over. Stained and broken and he was pretty sure you could see a piece of her sock. He gave a short laugh as he listed off all the things that were wrong with them in his head before gesturing to her feet. "Bryant, you need new sneakers. If you don't mind me saying, these are beyond repair."

She seemed horrified at the notion, and swept a hand up against her heart dramatically before bending down and petting her feet. Tilting her face upwards at him she rolled her eyes, her little display over. "_Never_, my sneakers are offended you would suggest something like that," she replied with a little smile on her face. "If you have to know anything about me Bolton, is that my sneakers are my soulmates. They have been with me through bruises and broken arms and puberty and-- well, _everything_. My parents hate them, for the most part. But every time I go get new sneakers (after the other ones fall apart) I get the same kind. They just don't get our relationship," she paused, biting her lip in thought. "sometimes they're the only thing that make sense." At the last comment, her expressioned darkened a bit and she straightened back up to a normal sitting position.

He took a long hard look at her, and realizing that everything she'd just said was serious-- he nodded his head slowly. "I understand the feeling..." he trailed off, awkwardly. Unlike her, it would seem he couldn't make any situation seem less uncomfortable. "I mean-- I know what you mean. But sometimes it's alright for things not to make sense, because sometimes that's when things come together the most-- when they _do _make sense." The statement was the most honest he could muster, because in truth-- the year that Gabriella arrived at East High, nothing had ever made less sense. Yet at the end of it, he knew more about himself, and his life was finally what he'd wanted. _Well_, right? At least he thought it was. He disliked the doubt that seemed to be creeping into his life lately.

That said, he hopped out of the car and she followed after him. It was time to go home, and though neither of them were aware of it-- _home _really wasn't such a distant notion after all.

* * *

_A/N:-/ (-protects Troy from pitchforks-) Up next... zee party._


	8. Let's Party

_A/N: Aww, thanks for the reviews (and yay for new readers too!)-- I wish I could reply to each of you but I seem I only have just enough time lately to quickly post up a new chapter . . UGH FOR PACKING. But yay for college. (And HSM is totally cool I agree, no matter what age SRSLY :P.) More loving and hating of Troy will ensue in the next couple of chapters. (I'm really hoping to finish this fic before I leave --, that gives me two weeks! I HOPE.)_

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Let's Party **

The night of the party came quickly, and this particular Friday was much anticipated by a large chunk of the student body. Currently he was driving his truck with Gabriella in the passenger's seat, as they tried to figure out Sharpay's terrible directions. He couldn't get over how fantastic she looked, and made sure to mention it every couple of minutes (enough so that Gabriella finally forced him to stop, a deep blush on her cheeks). The thing was, that wearing a skirt that was short like she was-- and a shirt that seemed to glitter just so when she moved-- and her hair falling over her bare shoulders like it was-- it was, well, a little overwhelming for him. Nonetheless, he tried his best to stop sneaking glances at her while driving. (Or else they'd never get there.)

The two had fallen into a sort of silence as the radio played in the background, Gabriella humming to the songs (though she wasn't aware of it)-- and every so often she'd start to sing, though ever so quietly-- as though she was trying to hide the fact. There was a cool breeze running in through the open windows, causing both of their hair to lightly float against the wind. The night was heavy upon them, and the moonlight illuminated the figure next to him quite prettily. The moment really couldn't have been more perfect than it was in those long minutes finding Sharpay's house. As though feeling his eyes on her, Gabriella turned to face him, wearing a smile and saying nothing else. She didn't really need to though, since her eyes said everything she didn't vocalize-- and he couldn't help but feel like... _Christ_, her smile could move mountains.

Ending too soon, they pulled onto a side street-- parking a bit away from what they assumed was Sharpay's enormous house. The street was already full of cars, and the imminent presence of a party was confirmed by the sound of the steady thump of inaudible music coming from inside the house. Stepping onto the sidewalk, they started to walk towards the house, and as Gabriella took a hold of his hand he couldn't help but feel a little bit excited for whatever was to come tonight.

* * *

This party had been a bad idea to come to. She didn't know what had possessed her. Sure, Sharpay's house was _enormous_. It had more rooms than she'd probably sleep in her entire lifetime. It had an amazing pool in the backyard and hell-- it even had a _waterfall_. The living room was the size of a small auditorium and _everything _about the music and the food and the entertainment was pretty much perfect. The only trouble was, she wasn't enjoying herself at _all_. Which is why she was currently hunched over the sink of one of the Queen-like bathrooms, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

She'd pulled up her hair for the occasion, one of the few times she'd ever let both her ears and eyes show at the same time-- and she supposed that was perhaps why no one was recognizing her. Hell, she'd even put on one of-- one of _those _shirts, the kind that showed too much skin and held onto your body too tight. Yeah! She'd even done _that_. She'd even put on _make-up_. She was all dressed up, but for _what _reason? It was like she didn't even know herself anymore.

Hearing a knock at the door and a voice demanding entrance on the other side (an obnoxious girl who sounded drunk), she turned away from the mirror and walked out of the bathroom. She was determined to get out of this house as fast as she could. She was surprised to be met with a sea of bumping bodies, who all were dancing to the beat of the music (whether they were good at it or not was irrelevant). Some had cups in one of their hands, others didn't have anything. She couldn't recognize many faces, and she was starting to think that the party had picked up people beyond just members of East High. Nevertheless, she pushed her way through the crowd-- completely and utterly irritated with herself for ever having even thought for a second that this was a good idea.

Suddenly, she felt a hand tug on her arm-- stopping her from leaving. She turned around the face the person, with a mixture of relief and hesitation. However, she was met with an unexpected sight, and immediately her face fell.

"Larry. I swear that this is the _worst _moment possible-- let go." She was adamant and was surprised that he didn't run away at the mere tone of her voice.

However, Larry was also persistent. He drew his hand away though, and for this she was thankful. "Erm-- look, sorry for bothering you but do you think that... maybe you would, er-- dance with me? Just one time-- you can go wherever you want afterwards... I just thought..." he trailed off, and frankly Clara was ready to just turn around and leave without further explanation. However, that damned caring slice of her almost felt bad for the guy. As if on cue, the fast moving song that had just been playing switched to something softer, slower, and meant for a pair of two.

Sighing heavily, she pushed him forwards-- muttering a "FINE." and knowing she was going to regret this in the morning. They walked through the crowd, looking for a clearing, and when they found an area where most pairs seemed to be swaying back and forth to the song she heaved a sigh, now succumbing to her fate in the arms of Smelly Larry Knight. A half second before his hands were on her waist, however, her attention was caught by another dancing pair of familiar faces-- Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez.

Her stomach squirmed uncomfortably for a second, and realizing that Larry had started to lead her around she placed her hands on his shoulders. "_Not _too close," she whispered at him, though paying much attention. Her eyes were fixated on Troy and his partner, for some reason fascinated by the sight and at the same time wondering why the hell her stomach was squirming like it couldn't decide whether she was going to throw up or if she was hungry. Turning away from the scene, she let Larry guide her feet.

* * *

The party hadn't progressed as terribly as he thought it would, but the later it got the more faces he didn't recognize kept popping up. Sharpay was excited-- almost ecstatic really-- at the amount of people that had shown up, and in truth he was too busy getting over the enormity of her house to be much bothered by the quickly growing crowd. At the moment though, everything was all very far from him, and he contently held Gabriella in his arms as they swayed back and forth in the crowd and sweltering heat to the beat of the music.

Just as they turned, he caught something in the corner of his eye. A familiar figure that he wasn't quite sure he was recognizing correctly. You see, the Clara Bryant he had come to know wore her hair in her face and t-shirts and jeans. The girl he was currently observing, however, had on a shirt that not only _fit _her-- but showed a big chunk of her _skin _as well. The girl he was currently observing didn't have her hair in her face-- she had her hair tied _up_, showcasing her eyes and _all _of her irritability. The girl was _also _dancing with Larry Knight.

However, there could be no mistaking that the girl was _in fact_ Clara Bryant.

For a second he forgot to keep moving his feet, and upon hearing Gabriella start to ask what was wrong he quickly muttered a "Nothing." and kept swaying back and forth, with one eye on the pair. It was an amusing sight, if anything, to see her frowning deeply as she moved Larry's hands up on her waist (instead of where they shouldn't be) every couple of minutes. The only trouble was that he-- that his stomach was... well, he didn't _know_. Quickly blaming it on the shrimp cocktail that Sharpay had forced down his throat earlier, he went back to dancing. When he looked back to the pair, however, they were no longer alone. A tall boy, lean, though apparantly muscular, now accompanied them. He was turned away from Troy, but it was obvious he was talking to Larry and Clara. All he could decipher of the guy was a head of short dark hair.

Then-- wait a second, was he _grabbing _Clara? The guy pushed Larry aside and seemed intent on getting Clara to talk to him-- but she didn't seem too happy. When the guy finally turned around and once again took a hold of Clara's shoulder Troy stopped moving altogether.

Oh _shit_.

* * *

So here she was, dancing with Lare Bear. (She was trying to come up with new nicknames for him in her head to pass the minutes away.) Fortunately for her, his usual smell was covered thickly by some sort of cologne-- and although it too smelled terrible, she preferred it over his natural aroma. He was also finally keeping his hands where they should be, like a gentleman. All these factors considered, she thought that-- hey-- she should give him a "Thanks." or a "This wasn't too bad." or maybe a "You don't smell _that _bad, I guess." The trouble was, just as she opened her mouth she was rudely interrupted by a third party.

"Now what is a girl like yourself doing dancing with a guy like that?" The deep voice cut in, and narrowing her eyes she turned to face the owner. A boy-- typical. Tall, dark hair, really nice green eyes and all. That was irrelevant though, jerks came in all shapes in sizes-- and this one had jerk written all over him. She rolled her eyes and turned around to face Larry again, intent on ignoring the Jerkus Mongus.

However, the guy seemed intent on getting _her _attention-- and before she knew it, one quick sweep of his hand and he had pushed Larry away from her, and now stood face to face with none other than herself. Oh, oh this guy was _definitely _going to regret he did that. She gathered up her wits and took a step forward. "Listen you moron, leave me alone or you'll be sorry you ever spoke to me." Her eyes were narrowed, her fists were clenched-- and if the guy had any sense whatsoever, he would have gone away by now.

It seemed he didn't though, as evident by him taking his _own _step forward-- taking a hold of her shoulder as she wrestled out of his grip. "Hey! Calm down! All I want is a _dance_-- come on, I don't bite unless you want me to!" he laughed, apparantly having a grand old time of her struggle and frustratedly she now resorted to raising her voice.

"LET GO," she demanded admantantly, "Who the hell are you anyways! Let go you _JERK_!" She realized by now that he was more than a little intoxicated, and the flashy lights probably weren't helping the guy's composure any. Maybe he wasn't usually this much of an ass. Alcohol sure did funny things to people, after all. It didn't mean, of course, that she felt so sorry she wasn't about two seconds away from kicking him where the sun don't shine. On the contrary, the two seconds were right about up.

"Shut _up_, your voice is so _loud_," he muttered at her as he pulled on her arm and held onto his head at the same time-- where the hell was Larry anyhow? Had he run away at the sign of trouble? Typical. "If there's _anything _I know in this world is that _no _girl has _ever _said no to Damien Sullivan."

Well, he was about to be in for a _rude _awakening then.

* * *

As soon as Troy had recognized the face, he didn't think twice before rushing over to the scene-- barely noticing the protests of the people he was bumping into along the way. By the time he'd gotten there, he'd caused enough of a scene to have more than a few pairs of eyes on him. He hadn't exactly had anything planned, because in the end, Troy Bolton wasn't much of a planner. Acting on instinct, he grabbed the guy's shoulder and turned him away from Clara.

He'd never thought his first meeting with Damien Sullivan would be like _this_. It took him a little bit of time to find his voice, as he observed the boy that was now facing him. They'd been, what, maybe 13 since they'd last seen each other? Damien was quite a few heads taller, filled out, grew into his ears-- now it was obvious that he was an athlete. With a set expression on his face, feigning surprise and a plethora of other emotions, Troy finally spoke.

"Leave her alone, Damien." His voice was even and quietly demanding-- despite who it was he was dealing with, Damien didn't have a right to treat any girl like the way he was treating Clara. Damien looked at him, and after frowning deeply he seemed to finally recognize who it was that was speaking to him. His face broke out into a terrible sort of grin.

"_Troy Bolton?_" he asked, incredulously. "Never thought I'd see _you _here in a million years," he wrapped an arm around Clara's shoulders-- and she immediately attempted to shrug them off. Icky. "I think we're fine here though, _thanks_."

Troy once again shoved Damien off the girl, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Just about everyone else was now blended into the background, sort of like a hazy dream where Damien was the only thing that wasn't blurring. "I'm serious, leave her alone." He wasn't kidding either, no matter how drunk Damien might have been-- there could be no mistaking the threatening edge in Troy's voice.

Damien stood still for a moment, and they both seemed to engage in something that likened to a staring contest. Though the notion was quickly broken as Damien took a step forward, coming eye to eye with the basketball star himself. "No." The same sardonic smile crept onto his features. "And, if you ever get in my way again-- it'll be the last time," he grunted, suddenly pushing Troy-- and caught unawares, he stumbled backwards onto the floor. Damien took another step forward, looking down at Troy with the utmost disgust. "You're still just like your father-- too stupid to know when to keep your mouth shut, _and _too dumb to do anything about it when you don't."

He turned around, but it was too late for apologies and _rational _talking-- something inside Troy just _snapped_. Without even thinking of the consequences, he flung himself towards Damien's back, and they _both _came crashing down onto the nearest table-- causing it to crumble right beneath them both. Before anyone had so much as blinked again, a full out brawl was taking place. The two fought their way around the living room, and the crowd parted whenever they got within a five foot radius. They ruined more tables, spilled all the refreshments, broke a mirror-- and still, the two continued at battle-- throwing punches, kicks, and wrestling each other onto the floor. It was only when Chad and a couple other members of Troy's team came upon the scene that anyone had enough sense to stop them.

As a collective effort, they pulled the two apart. The damage to the room was extensive, and by now all eyes were on them.

"LET ME GO," Troy cried as he struggled against the grip of his teammates. They were relentless in their efforts however, and Chad tried to talk some sense into Troy-- but before any of them could, Damien had already opened his big mouth. His lip was bleeding, he looked bruised, and also completely disheveled.

"_Forget it_," he spat out, as he struggled to catch his breath. "We'll settle this where it _should _be-- at the game." With that said, he turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

After Damien left, the room was silent as they viewed Troy's disheveled state with new emotion in their eyes. He wasn't exactly known for getting into fights like the one he'd just had. So when he looked at Gabriella-- who was struck between worry and disappointment-- and when he looked at Clara-- who's expression was totally unreadable-- and when he looked at the rest of his friends, he couldn't take any of it and so he _too _left without uttering another word. Pushing his way through the crowd as he approached the front door, he couldn't help but think that what had just happened had completely and totally messed _everything _up.

* * *

_A/N: Next up is... more stuff AS WELL as Chad and Taylor. Because they didn't just disappear :P._


End file.
